The Boy Who Couldn’t Fly Home: A Gay Teen Coming of Age Paranormal Adventure about Witches, Murder, and Gay Teen Love (The Broom Closet Stories Book 2)

by Jeff Jacobson

  More birds came, a seeming endless rush of beaks and claws, more fight than Daniel could ward off.

  “Hang on!” Rita yelled. She gripped Charlie with one hand. The other reached up and grabbed a gold-colored ring hanging from a cord around her neck. He watched her mouth move. A colorless wave spread out from the ring, becoming black ripples in the air. The ripples struck the cloud of attacking crows, sending them spinning off like dry leaves in a gust of wind. The instant Charlie felt the wave wash over him, his stomach lurched with nausea. The next thing he knew, the cold cereal he had eaten earlier that night rushed up from his stomach. He barely had time to turn his head away from Rita before vomiting over the side of the broomstick.

  She pulled Charlie over until he was mostly sitting up on her broom, in front of her.

  “Go, Daniel! I’ve got him!” she yelled.

  “No! There aren’t enough of us!”

  “Go!” she screamed.

  Daniel veered off to the right and flew directly up at Grace and the witches surrounding her. Charlie wiped at his eyes, then felt his veins turn to ice as he figured out what he was looking at. His Aunt Beverly was mounted on the back of Grace’s broomstick. Her hair flew behind her in a dark stream. She had her hands around the witch’s neck.

  No! What was she doing? Didn’t she know how dangerous Grace was? Didn’t she …?

  A sound cracked the air, something between a woman’s scream and the boom of thunder. He watched as Beverly, Daniel, and the others were flung away from Grace, spinning faster than the crows from the terrible wave of Rita’s ring. He saw his aunt tossed from her broom, her feet flailing in the air.

  “No!” Charlie shouted. “No, they’re falling!”

  Rita looked over her shoulder. “They’re all right! Don’t worry about them!”

  Freed from her attackers, Grace spun her neck around until she looked down at Charlie and Rita. Even from nearly twenty feet away he could see her face. For a moment, it was horrifying, crackling with murder and rage, spitting with war. Then she turned, bent low over her broom, and shot off into the distance, impossibly fast, faster than a fighter jet, faster than a witch should be able to fly. The pungent odor of moist wood filled his nostrils. The last he saw of her was the streak of long red hair freed from its bun, trailing behind her as if on fire.

  Dark shapes surrounded them. He saw Daniel, Beverly, the older witch Joan, the one who’d argued with Randall that night in the kitchen, and another man he didn’t recognize, all secure on their broomsticks.

  “All accounted for?” Rita shouted.

  “Yes!” Beverly yelled in reply, pointing west. “Back to my place!”

  The broomsticks angled toward Puget Sound, with no crows, no red-haired witch, pursuing them.

  CHAPTER 14

  Someone Brave

  THE DISHEVELED BAND OF WITCHES walked into the living room. Charlie jumped as he heard loud cracks behind him and turned to see the adults picking up their shrunken broomsticks from the floor.

  Randall rushed at them, coffee mug in hand, the worry lines thick on his face looked as if drawn with ash.

  “Bev! Is everyone all right?”

  “We’re okay,” his aunt said. “We’re okay.” She took off her shoes, then walked over and threw her arms around her husband.

  Charlie had only just begun to understand the magnitude of what happened, had only just realized that, because of his stupidity, Beverly and the others had risked their lives in order to rescue him.

  “Mostly okay,” Rita said behind him. She and Daniel were supporting Joan, who seemed barely able to walk.

  “Joan!” Beverly gasped.

  She pulled away from Randall and rushed over to where the rest of the group stood in the entryway to the living room.

  “I’m okay, I’m okay, it’s just my leg,” Joan answered, trying to laugh it off. But her voice was weak, and her face grimaced in pain as she tried to take the next step.

  Daniel and Rita brought her to the couch and had her lie down. Beverly and the man Charlie didn’t know gathered around her.

  Charlie stayed in the entryway, watching from across the room.

  “I saw Grace strike at her with that dagger.”

  “How much does it hurt?”

  “I’ll be fine. It’s just a flesh wound,” Joan said, imitating an English accent.

  “Did anyone else get hit?”

  “No, no, we’re fine.”

  They didn’t look fine to Charlie. Their clothes were torn, Daniel and Rita’s faces were covered with claw marks, and the detective’s ear was bleeding.

  “I’ll get supplies,” Beverly said, walking past Charlie without looking at him and heading downstairs. The man Charlie didn’t recognize went with her.

  “Well, what the hell happened?” Randall asked, looking at his nephew, then the remaining three adults.

  Daniel took his attention away from Joan’s leg and glanced at everyone in the room, stopping last at Charlie, who stood frozen with his arms folded over his chest, not sure if he should sit down or go to his room and hide his face in shame.

  “Grace had your nephew and was taking him north somewhere. She had an army of crows surrounding them for cover.”

  “I tell you, Randall, your wife is one badass witch,” Rita said from the end of the couch near Joan’s feet. “She led the charge, flying right into Grace and her coterie. Grace had Charlie’s broom locked up, but Bev broke the lock by taking her straight on. I couldn’t believe it.”

  “What?! She flew right into Grace?! What the hell was she thinking?” asked Randall, freezing in place in front of the couch, a look of horror on his face.

  “It’s okay, Randall,” Daniel said, putting his hand on the man’s shoulder. “It was the only thing that would have worked. Grace has a tremendous amount power, more than all of us combined. But I don’t think she’s used to being confronted directly. Beverly’s attack threw her off and allowed us to get Charlie away from her.”

  “It was so satisfying to land on that bitch’s broom and smack her around,” Joan said from her prone position on the couch. Her voice shook, but her eyes gleamed with fierceness. “She didn’t know we had it in us.”

  “But … but … how did you get away?”

  “Rand, it’s okay, don’t worry about it. We managed.”

  “Don’t placate me, Daniel. Goddamn it. My nephew takes off in the middle of the night, and my wife and the rest of you go on a rescue mission against … the most dangerous witch in the cosmos, and you tell me not to worry?!” He yelled, his voice bouncing off the walls of the living room. Charlie cringed.

  Beverly and the other man entered the room carrying jars and bowls and candles.

  “Hey, hey, the worst is over,” said the man. He was short, stocky, and mostly bald, but what hair was left was brushed in a not-so-subtle combover. In spite of himself, Charlie wondered how his hair had managed to stay plastered to his scalp after the midair fight they had just had.

  “Randall,” Rita said, turning to him, her face solemn. “Beverly contacted us, as you know, after she heard Charlie’s mirror break. It didn’t take long to hone in on where Grace and Charlie were. As I said, we flew straight at them, surprising her. Daniel and I got Charlie back. Joan, Bev, and Morty attacked Grace. She had crows everywhere, so I blasted them with my trusty ring here …”

  She reached up and pointed to the cord around her neck.

  “… and took care of them. Daniel joined in the fray until Grace was overpowered. She took off. We flew back here. End of story.

  “Now,” she said, looking from Randall to Beverly to Charlie. “Why don’t you let me take care of Joan? You probably need to have a little chat.”

  Beverly, who stood next to her husband, finally turned to Charlie. He saw the fury in her eyes. He felt his knees weaken and had the sudden urge to open the front door and flee.

  “Do you want to tell us just what the hell you were thinking, Charlie?” His aunt yelled, her voice ringing sharply
in his ears.

  “Easy, honey. Let’s take this easy now, okay?”

  “I will not take this easy. Charlie, do you realize how much danger you were in? I don’t know why Grace hadn’t already killed you. She was about to when we got there. I don’t …” She stopped, the fury draining from her face. A choking sound escaped her lips. Her head dropped to her hands, and she started to weep.

  “Aw, honey,” Randall said, draping an arm over her shoulder.

  Charlie wished that the floor would open up and swallow him whole. He wanted to do too many things at once: run to his aunt, pound his fists on the couch, throw something, beg for forgiveness, and rush out the front door, never coming back.

  Instead, he did what he always did. He stood still, unable to say anything.

  The man whose name was Morty walked over to Charlie and looked up into his face while Beverly continued to weep.

  “Why don’t we all sit down and talk? There’s gotta be some food in this joint somewhere. I’m starving!”

  * * *

  Tea, coffee, and juice had been poured. Apples, cheese, and banana bread were passed around. Rita made some sort of ointment from Beverly’s supplies. She dabbed it on the cuts everyone had sustained in the fight, including the scrape on Charlie’s neck from Grace’s fingernails, which she assured him would not leave a scar, then massaged a large quantity onto Joan’s leg. When it had been determined that no poison or spell had infested her wound, the older witch smiled and said, “I told you so” as she sipped her tea.

  Charlie sat in a chair as far from the adults as possible. He knew they were waiting for an answer from him. And he knew that it was time to give one. They had put their lives on the line for him tonight. This made his fears and worries seem stupid, seem meaningless. He would no longer hide behind his shame and shyness in front of these brave people.

  He had found the courage to speak with Diego, and with Malcolm. He could do it again. His aunt, Joan, and the others deserved it.

  He wasn’t sure where to start. He looked down at the floor, as if an answer might be waiting for him in the soft weave of the carpet. Then he remembered Malcolm’s advice: be straightforward.

  He raised his head and saw that everyone was looking at him, waiting for him to speak. So he took a deep breath, looked back down at the floor, and began.

  “I got up in the middle of the night to have some cereal,” Charlie said. Surprisingly, his voice was steady, betraying none of the shame that he felt.

  “When I got back upstairs, I saw your light on under the door. I could hear your voices. I shouldn’t have stopped and listened, but sound carries from the heat vent in the hallway.”

  “I didn’t know that!” Randall blurted, looking embarrassed.

  “Keep going,” Beverly said, ignoring her husband.

  “I heard you two talking. About Diego and me. About …”

  “Oh no!” his aunt whispered, her hands flying to her face.

  “What? What did you say?” Rita demanded, looking at Beverly.

  “Charlie, what did you hear?” asked Randall.

  He took a deep breath. He felt his resolve wavering. He didn’t want to be having this conversation right now, in front of people he barely knew. He didn’t even want to have it with his aunt and uncle. He wished he could be outside with Diego somewhere, looking at the Olympic Mountains. Not talking. Just sitting.

  But he looked up again and saw the faces of the adults watching him. Save for Randall, they had all put themselves in mortal danger tonight. For him. It didn’t matter that they had escaped relatively unharmed. He knew that one or more of them might have been killed. All because of his stupid selfish mistake.

  He ran a shaking hand over his forehead, then rubbed hard at his eye sockets, trying to summon as much nerve as the witches sitting before him had shown when they had attacked Grace.

  “I heard Beverly say she didn’t want me to be gay.”

  “No, Charlie, that’s not what I meant! I …”

  “It’s okay. I don’t want it either. I’ve tried for a long time not to be, but …” His voice caught in his throat, and his eyes filled with tears. He looked down at his knees, at the color of the denim on his legs, at how the toes of his stockinged feet were digging into the carpet, trying to grab hold of something solid.

  Don’t cry, you big baby, don’t be such a …, the angry voice chided in his head.

  But he found that he didn’t care anymore what that voice said. He was too tired to worry about it. Hiding things from everyone didn’t work anymore. Even Grace knew his business.

  So he cried. He just sat on the couch and cried. And blessedly, the others didn’t rush in to hug him. They didn’t try to cheer him up with their loud voices. They just watched and waited.

  After a moment, he wiped at his eyes and coughed a few times to clear his throat. “I’ve tried for a long time to make it go away. But it never seems to work. Back home in Clarkston, I wasn’t sure what to do about it. I ignored it. But the day that it all happened, when that dog, or that man or whatever, broke into our house, earlier that day,” he exhaled, “I saw a story, a story on the news. There was this kid, this local kid who was … was found …”

  He began to cry harder. He waited, letting the shaking wash over him. When it settled down, he wiped his nose on the back of his sleeve. He could tell that momentum was building, momentum that might help him get the whole story out, if he just kept talking and didn’t listen too much to what he was saying.

  “Some people beat him up and left him by the side of the road. They didn’t kill him, but … but they almost did. He was a football player at this other high school, you know? And he had told his coach and his team that he was gay. They just … somebody just … the cops didn’t know who …”

  He paused, gulping for air, unable to get enough oxygen in his lungs. He could hear the breathing of the other adults.

  “I don’t want to be like that. Like him. But it won’t go away, you know? I don’t, don’t really know what to do. And then, well, Mom and I came up here. It was all so fast and intense that I even forgot about it for a while. But then Diego, he saw me at the farmers market, and he thought I was, you know, he thought I was …”

  He looked up at Rita, who was nodding, hanging on every word he said. Her face was gentle, not as ravaged-looking as his aunt’s and uncle’s. It was easier to focus on her.

  “Diego’s this kid at school who’s gay, you know? He’s open about it, to his mom and to people at school. Everyone knows about him. He’s really popular and cool. A few kids hassle him, but most of them don’t.

  “I just thought he was nice, though I was surprised that he wanted to be friends with me. I mean, he’s so popular and stuff. He invited me to this party, and then that night he told me he thought I was gay. I couldn’t believe it. I mean, I don’t do anything, I never … say anything, I try to hide it …”

  More tears, more shaking. Someone handed him a tissue. He blew his nose, then kept going.

  “When I met Malcolm the first time, he asked me who the girl was. I didn’t know what he meant. Then he said, ‘Oh, what’s his name?’ Malcolm knew too. He even knew more than I did. He told me that he didn’t care, but that if I lied to myself, I wouldn’t be able to be a witch. I wouldn’t be able to hear the things I needed to hear, to, you know, concentrate, if I kept this big secret. He said I didn’t have to tell anybody else, just myself.

  “He told me he didn’t use any witchcraft on me to find out. He just knew, you know? Even he could tell.”

  He took another deep breath. Tears were falling down Beverly’s face, but he knew he couldn’t do anything about it. He was tired of trying not to hurt people. It didn’t work anyway. He just hoped she could forgive him for tonight. He didn’t deserve her forgiveness. It wasn’t an excuse for what he did, but maybe if she understood the whole story, then …

  “I don’t know if I like Diego. I mean, like that. I don’t know how it all works. I think he wants to be my
boyfriend or something. But that’s … that’s just … that’s just … so gay.”

  Charlie heard someone guffaw. Everyone looked over at Morty, who turned bright red.

  “Sorry. Sorry,” he said, looking down at his lap.

  Charlie continued. “I keep wishing everything would slow down. But it doesn’t. I can’t keep up with it all. It’s like I’m in a race, like at track at school. I thought it was the hundred-meter dash, but then it turns into the four-hundred, then the eight-hundred, then long-distance. Somebody keeps pulling the finish line farther and farther away from me.”

  Charlie turned to his aunt. “I know I wasn’t supposed to go out on my own like I did tonight. Even if you hadn’t told me not to, even if Malcolm hadn’t drilled it in to us over and over that time at his cabin. I know I shouldn’t have done it. But when I heard you say you didn’t want me to be gay, I just …”

  He paused, thinking that he was going to cry again. But no tears came. Maybe he had cried them all out.

  “I just gave up. Nothing seemed to work anymore. Maybe it never did. That’s why I, uh, why I left. I couldn’t figure out anything else to do. I just wanted to run away.”

  He stopped talking. Rita and Beverly were both crying. Daniel looked as stern as ever. His mustache twitched slightly. He and Morty exchanged a glance. Joan stared up at the ceiling, her teacup and saucer resting on her belly. Randall looked back and forth from Beverly to Charlie. Then he opened his mouth.

  “Charlie, it sounds like you didn’t hear the whole conversation between your aunt and me. Just in case you think everyone knows your secret, they don’t. Beverly didn’t. When I told her I thought that you and Diego might be more than friends, she was surprised. And yes, she said she didn’t want it to be true. I got mad at her. I thought she was being closed-minded. But that’s not accurate. She thought …”

  “I thought,” interrupted Beverly, raising her head and looking at Charlie, her eyes red and puffy, her cheeks wet, “that I really loved you and I was tired of all the things you were having to go through. It didn’t seem fair to me that such a good kid had to deal with so much. This world doesn’t seem very kind to people, people who …”